Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  “Not too deep—an’ that’s a blessin’,” Molly was saying. “Once we git the bleedin’ stopped.” She took the new strip and wound it tightly above the wound.

  Frank seemed to rouse himself, forcing some strength back to his voice as he stared at his leg. “It’sa gonna need stitches.”

  Molly’s head came up. “Stitches? I ain’t no doctor, Frank.”

  He managed a weak smile. “Doctor, no. But stitcher, yes.”

  “Humph,” puffed Molly. Teddy returned from the house with the additional supplies, then was sent back for the sewing kit.

  Beth was tearing more strips of cloth but had to keep her face turned away. She shuddered, finding it impossible to imagine such a task, but Molly set to work. She steadily stitched the wound, with only an occasional groan from her patient. She got the blood flow stopped and bandaged the leg with more of her sheet strips after pouring on generous amounts of her precious antiseptic. Finally she rinsed her own hands clean with a deep sigh. Then the two women and Teddy half carried, half led Frank inside to a chair at the kitchen table.

  “Make a list an’ we’ll send Teddy to yer place fer what ya need,” Molly instructed.

  Frank stared at her.

  “Well, ya can’t go back there, even if you was able to git there. Which ya ain’t. This is gonna take some tendin’ to, and I ain’t got the time to be hikin’ out to yer cabin two or three times a day. You can have the long sofa in the parlor fer a bed, since you can’t climb them stairs. We’ll jest watch over ya here for a while.” Her tone invited no discussion, and Molly placed a cup of strong coffee near Frank’s elbow, placed a piece of paper and a pencil on the table, and went to wash the blood from her apron. Beth guessed she probably washed additional tears from her eyes at the same time.

  Frank’s wound healed well over the days that followed. Molly took her nursing seriously and fussed or scolded by turn. They shared coffee in the kitchen, where Frank was allowed to do small tasks to help with meal preparation. Beth observed a few games of dominoes or shared work on a jigsaw puzzle. Once he could put weight back on the injured leg, Molly even escorted him to the dining room table at mealtime. In all of Frank’s previous visits, he had never taken a meal with the company men in the dining room.

  “Truth be told,” Molly muttered to Beth, “he got far more right to be settin’ there than those stuffed shirts I feed every meal.” Beth only smiled. Molly was doing far more than inviting a man to the dinner table—and well she knew it. Molly was making a statement to the entire town—company men included—that they were all on level ground. Well—almost. Beth was certain that in Molly’s eyes, Frank was one step above them.

  Almost as soon as Frank joined them at the dinner table, Nick Costa returned unexpectedly. It caused some consternation for Molly—who was faced with the task of finding room for him when all her guest rooms were in use. With Frank sleeping in the parlor and four other men already settled in the rooms upstairs, Beth quickly volunteered to have Marnie move in and share her room so Nick might board in Marnie’s for the time being. Marnie’s eyes shone at the prospect.

  Even at this arrangement, Nick was such a gentleman that he did not complain—not even a flicker of annoyance. Beth was certain none of the other company men would have stood for such a small room—with a view of the shed to boot.

  Frank was getting restless and antsy, impatient to get back to his usual activities even while he obviously appreciated the care Molly was lavishing upon him. In his typical manner, he had taken upon himself some useful tasks. Virtually behind Molly’s back, he would slip away to fix the hinge on the front gate, drive the fence posts deeper so the pickets stood straight again, and pound more nails into some loose boards on the front porch. Molly clucked at him disapprovingly whenever she caught him, but no one doubted how pleased she was to have Frank getting well and near at hand.

  At last Molly was convinced Frank could manage well enough for himself at home. She wrapped an extra loaf of nut bread, his favorite, and ladled a jar of some leftover stew for him to take home. Beth watched in amazement as he expressed his thanks, smiling warmly into Molly’s eyes just a little longer than necessary, and Molly blushing ever so slightly when he praised her. “You make’a the best I’ve ever had!”

  CHAPTER

  22

  TEDDY WAS BUSY coaxing the pool hall’s large iron stove into a controlled warming blaze as Beth worked at the chalkboard, posting the day’s arithmetic assignment for the older class. An unexpected visitor slipped into the schoolroom while they worked, and they both spun toward the sound of a loud, questioning meow.

  “A cat!” Beth exclaimed.

  Teddy stood and shut the iron door. “Mrs. Grant’s tabby,” he volunteered. “Don’t know how it managed to git out. She keeps it tucked in close upstairs.”

  “Maybe you had best take it back up to her,” Beth suggested.

  “That cat? She’d scratch the freckles right off yer face if ya even tried to pick her up.”

  “She’s mean?”

  “Mean? She’s wicked. Won’t let no one but Mrs. Grant touch her. Not even Davie.”

  At the mention of Davie, Beth felt a chill. Dared she ask questions of Teddy? He knew the cat—did he also know the man?

  As quickly as the idea came, Beth dismissed it. She would not involve Teddy in something that might mean danger.

  “If we can’t get the cat back, what will we do with it?” she wondered. “If it’s mean, I don’t want anybody getting hurt. . . .” Silently she was praying that Davie would not be the one sent to reclaim the wayward animal.

  “Mrs. Grant’ll come,” asserted Teddy matter-of-factly. “Surprised she ain’t—isn’t here already.”

  Just as Teddy spoke, Beth heard steps stomping through the hallway. She turned, fearing she would be facing an angry Davie Grant, but instead it was Helen who trudged into the room.

  “Penelope,” she said, staring at the cat with a frown. “How come ya down here?”

  In answer the cat dashed from under one table to another.

  Helen turned accusing eyes at Beth. “It’s the food ya been bringin’ in here to feed those kids. She never come down here before.”

  Beth stood dumbly—chalk in hand. Weeks had passed since she had last brought any food to school.

  Teddy spoke into the silence. “Miss Thatcher said I should bring her on up, but I told her the cat don’t like no one touching her but you.”

  “You mind you never lay a hand on her, boy” was Helen’s terse response.

  “No, ma’am,” responded Teddy evenly.

  Helen blew out a breath and let her gaze travel the room. “Humph,” she puffed, “almost looks like a true schoolroom in here.”

  It is a true schoolroom, Beth wished to retort, but she bit her tongue.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Teddy. “It sure does.”

  Helen shuffled. “Well—the year’s most over. Then we’ll be back to some peace and quiet again.”

  Beth felt she should say something—anything to break the tension. But her mind refused to produce anything that sounded reasonable.

  Teddy saved her again. “We sure do appreciate Mr. Grant lettin’ us use his building for the year, ma’am.”

  Helen’s eyes sparked. “His building?” she snapped. “That man ain’t done nothin’ in his life to earn ’im no ownership of nothin’. Was my money bought this here building—then he goes and makes a saloon outta it, ’stead of the supply store we’d agreed upon. Then Prohibition come along and takes even that away. No store. No nothing but a two-bit pool hall thet don’t even pay me to open the doors. I watch my money tricklin’ away for no good reason. And now my husband is—” She stopped abruptly and tugged her worn sweater across her front as though to hide behind its tattered wool.

  Beth finally found her voice. She carefully laid aside the chalk and stepped toward their visitor.

  “Mrs. Grant,” she said with all the kindness she could convey, “you will never know how meanin
gful and wonderful the use of your building has been to this town. Without it there would have been no chance for these children to receive an education. I sincerely—most sincerely—thank you on their behalf for your generosity. We owe you more than we can ever repay.”

  As Beth’s words washed over the woman, the changes in her demeanor were reflected in her eyes. She said nothing more, simply scooped up her delinquent cat and took her leave just as the students began to clatter through the doors. However, as Beth watched her go she was certain the woman’s back did not look quite as stiff as it had when she had entered.

  As Julie’s visit drew close, Beth was bubbling over with excitement. She referred to it often, repeating, “Molly, when Julie comes . . .” numerous times a day. Her sister would follow Beth’s western journey, arriving in Lethbridge by train and catching a ride to Coal Valley in the company vehicle. Beth put the finishing touches on Julie’s room, including a little bouquet of the first spring wild flowers, grateful there were fewer boarders at the time so a room was available. She stood back, assessing it in hopes that her sister would be comfortable and feel welcome.

  The big day finally arrived, and Julie stepped out onto the streets of Coal Valley as if the road itself were contaminated. Beth rushed forward to hug her close, overlooking her sister’s aversive behavior. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she exclaimed again and again, pulling Julie into Molly’s yard. They climbed the porch together, Julie looking around stiffly and oddly silent.

  Introductions came first. “This is Molly McFarland. She’s like a second mother to me.”

  “Delighted, I’m sure.” Julie nodded and offered her hand.

  “And these two are Teddy and Marnie, Molly’s—uh—family.”

  Julie smiled politely. “Good afternoon.”

  “H’lo,” the teens answered in unison, their faces devoid of expression.

  “Come upstairs, Julie. We’ve got a room for you just across the hallway from mine. I was going to suggest that we share, but this way you’ll have space for your clothes and your other things.”

  The man carrying Julie’s trunk dropped it at the front door and turned away, looking somewhat put out. “Teddy Boy,” Molly said, nodding at the trunk. He silently hoisted it to follow Beth and Julie up the stairs.

  Beth motioned toward her own door and then opened the door to Julie’s room. “See, I’m just across the hall.” The two girls entered. “I think you’ll be very comfortable here,” Beth hurried on. “The men boarders are farther up the hall.”

  Julie was surveying the room slowly. “What I’d really like, Bethie,” she said, “is to freshen up. It was a horrific trip—the roads were positively dreadful. I thought that old beat-up car would surely fall to pieces before we arrived. Will you show me the washroom, please?”

  Beth smiled. “Well, there really isn’t one. But you do have a washstand here, and I made sure the water is fresh for you. Here are your towels and soap.”

  Julie was bewildered. “But where . . . where is the privy?”

  “Oh, well, you have two rather old-fashioned choices, sister dear. There is a chamber pot—” she gestured toward it—“and the outhouse in back.” Her eyes were coaxing Julie to see the humor and adventure in their surroundings. But then Beth remembered her own feelings upon arriving in Coal Valley—the dismal main street, the simple accommodations, the strangeness of it all. Her bearing relaxed in empathy.

  Julie was clearly overwhelmed. “I had no idea that your town was so . . . so primitive.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Beth reassured her.

  Julie snorted and walked around the bedroom, testing for dust on the dresser and pressing down on the mattress.

  Beth was taken aback by her reaction. “I don’t remember you being quite so prissy,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  Julie flashed a frown, then quickly softened. “Is that what I’m being? I’m sorry, darling. I really was determined to be ever so bold and daring—and here I am, already fit to be tied.”

  “You’re here, Julie!” Beth raised her arms in delight. “You’re really here. You can’t imagine how I’ve looked forward to this!”

  Together they unpacked Julie’s trunk and began to chatter again as they had when they were young. There was so much news from home that Beth could hardly drink it all in. Friends had become engaged, hearts had been broken, babies had been born, and extravagant purchases had been made. Julie gushed over all of it, just as she used to.

  After everything had been put in order, Beth suggested they take a walk around town. “It won’t take us long,” she said with a chuckle. “There is really only one street.”

  They walked over to the company hall while Beth pointed down the little hill to the mining families’ houses. She had already shared with Julie about the plight of the women and children. Julie was even more dismayed to see their homes. “They’re so small,” she whispered. “Are some of them where those foreign miners live?”

  “Oh no, they live in the camp. It’s a little ways from town, and much humbler than these.”

  “I can hardly imagine!”

  The hall was locked, so Beth continued next door to the company store.

  “We can go inside the shop, but I doubt they have anything you need.”

  “Can I see your classroom?”

  “I suppose—yes, we can go there,” Beth answered guardedly, her mind wrestling with the chance of encountering Davie Grant. She had not seen him since being accosted in the woods, and so she was nearly certain he would not appear now. But still her heart raced at the very thought—heightened by her desire to protect her sister from any possible harm. She rather warily led Julie across the street toward the pool hall. Inside, the dim lighting showed the main room where the tables were now set up to serve company men in their leisure. There was no evidence of her classroom at all.

  “But, Bethie, it really is a saloon, just as Mother said.”

  Beth led their retreat out onto the road before anyone had noticed them. “No, it is indeed a pool hall and a coffee house. But on weekdays, it’s also our classroom.”

  “Unfathomable.” Julie shook her head. “How can your tiny hamlet even support a pool hall? Are there enough patrons with so few men? Does the school pay rent?”

  It had never occurred to Beth to wonder. “Possibly the mothers do” was her best response.

  Already Julie had seen almost everything that made up the small town. They stood together in the road for a moment, turning in one direction and then another. Beth shrugged. “Other than the mine and the camp—and I suppose the river and woods—there’s really nothing else. If it were warmer we might go for a walk—” But she stopped abruptly. A walk through the beautiful woods was no longer an option.

  “Let’s go back to the guest house,” Julie said. “I feel as if we’re being watched.”

  “Well, I suppose we are.” Beth laughed at the thought. “You’re new—and that creates a stir. Mostly among the children—who seem to notice everything.”

  Beth and Julie spent a little more time sitting in chairs on the sunlit porch before they were summoned for supper. They shared the dining room with three of the company men and Teddy. Beth felt a little like she was a newcomer too tonight, not assisting with the meal service as she usually did. She watched with some apprehension as Julie conversed with the men who shared their table. Her sister’s manners were impeccable, but Beth was concerned her demeanor conveyed a lack of respect. It made Beth wonder if she herself had seemed as aloof when she first arrived in Coal Valley.

  In the evening, Beth invited Julie to join their English class at Frank’s cabin, but she declined, saying she was weary and wanted to retire early. As Beth trudged the short wooded path behind Molly, she was pleased to remember that Sunday morning would bring the arrival of Philip and a church service to share with her beloved sister.

  Molly and the others were waiting in the foyer ready to leave when Beth rapped on her sister’s door
for the third time. Julie had skipped breakfast and now insisted, again through the locked door, “Just a few more minutes.” Beth descended halfway down the stairs and suggested that the others go on ahead—she would follow when Julie was ready.

  Molly obviously was holding her tongue. She managed to smile up at Beth and motioned the others out the door. Beth returned upstairs.

  At last Julie emerged. “How do you like it, Bethie? It’s new.” From head to toe she looked the fashion plate. Cloche hat tipped smartly over swirls of extravagantly coifed hair, liberal use of rouge and lipstick, a shift-style dress of expensive silk fabric—the shorter fashion their mother disdained—modern hose with patent leather shoes, three long strands of beads clicking against one another as she moved.

  Beth stepped back in alarm. “Julie, no one dresses like that here.”

  “I know,” she answered calmly, gesturing with one hand as if she were modeling the ensemble. “I thought I would show them how it’s done. Maybe they can learn a few tips. I’m considered somewhat of a master at accessorizing back home, as you know.”

  Beth quickly pushed her sister back inside the room and shut the door, leaning her back against it. “We don’t have much time, Julie—but the makeup and jewelry have got to go. I suppose we’ll have to put up with the rest.”

  “But there is nothing wrong with the way I look!”

  “For pity’s sake, Julie, it’s church!”

  Despite her sister’s shrill protestations, Beth persisted until the makeup had been removed, the long strands of beads and gaudy earrings returned to the box on Julie’s dresser. Then as quickly as possible, Beth tossed a coat to Julie and propelled her out the door. She could already hear singing from the hall before they entered and moved into the row to take the seats Molly had saved for them. Beth noticed Philip’s eyes following them curiously. In fact, in every direction she could feel people observing them intently.